Step By Step
by bourbon
Summary: Post-Jump Push Fall season finale. Can Woody and Jordan mend their relationship as Woody recovers from his devastating injuries? WJ pairing. COMPLETE.
1. Broken

_I thought the season finale ROCKED! It opened up so many possibilities for Season V. Unfortunately, we'll have to wait several months to see how the story plays out. In the meantime, there is always fan fiction!_

_This story will probably be fairly similar to my story "Touch and Go." Both of them are about Woody getting shot and being less than friendly to Jordan when he wakes up, but I think some of the issues dealt with will be different._

_Regardless, I hope you will enjoy it! Here's the first, short chapter!_

XXXXXXXXXXXX

It was past eleven when she finally dragged herself home. They had all stood frozen, looking at the elevator doors, expecting them to open and for Garret to walk out again, but of course, he didn't.

She drove toward home in a numbed silence. When she found herself driving by the hospital where Woody lay, she stopped. She got as far as the parking garage and sat there for some time before starting the car back up and heading home to her empty apartment.

She had not been able to erase the sensations of the last few days from her mind: the way the floor seemed to open and swallow her up when the call came about Woody, the feel of her lips against his damp cheek as they wheeled him into surgery, the brush of his fingers as he roughly pulled his hand from hers, the cold sound of his voice as he dismissed her from his room and his life. _Get out of here. Now._

How had it come to this? She had somehow envisioned this moment differently.

_"Please don't leave. Please don't leave me," _she had whispered to him, her voice shaking with emotion. "_I need you. I need you_."

While he was in surgery, she had prayed for the first time in her adult life, and he had survived. But now he was gone anyway. It had taken that moment: the full, icy shock of fearing the worst to make her realize the intensity of her feelings. It seemed like the plot of a twisted O. Henry story: just as she realized how much she wanted him, he no longer wanted _her._

The phone rang once as she finally drifted to sleep. She grabbed for it, hoping it would be Woody asking her to return to his bedside. It was a wrong number, and she cried a fresh shower of tears before turning the light out again and curling up into a ball.

She dreaded work the next morning under the new regime. People moved around the hall, zombie-like. She had just sat down at her desk and clicked on her computer when Lily poked her head in the door and handed her a piece of paper.

"Here, Jordan. Memo to all employees," Lily groaned.

"Great..." Jordan said scanning the page. "Employees can no longer send or receive personal emails, or we will face immediate termination. Big Brother is watching." She crumpled the paper and tossed it into her waste paper basket.

Lily snorted and took a step into the room. Her voice dropped with concern. "How's Woody? Any news?"

Jordan began to fumble with her pencils. "I wouldn't know."

Lily bent over her desk with concern. "What happened, Jordan?"

Jordan shrugged and batted at the spontaneous tears that had popped into her eyes. "I went to see him after he woke up from surgery, and he threw me out. He said the only reason I was there was because I felt sorry for him."

"So, what did you do?"

"Well...I left."

"You _left?_" Lily looked at her, wide-eyed.

"What was I supposed to do?"

Lily's palms fell against her thighs in exasperation. "Jordan, he's scared. He's in pain. He's not sure if he'll ever walk again. He doesn't have any idea what he's saying. You can't just..."

"_Look_." Jordan held her hands up. "I really don't want to get into this. For all we know, Slocum's got the room bugged, and we'll get the boot for having private conversations while on duty," she spat.

"OK, I'm sorry," Lily said. "It's just...We all see it here. You guys light up when you're together. It can't end this way, Jordan. Woody needs you now more than ever. Don't walk away from him." And then she added in a small, gentle voice. "Woody wouldn't walk away from you, would he?"

And she knew Lily was right. As many times as she had pushed him away, as many times as she had tested his patience to the limit, he had come back.

She let herself cry for a minute after Lily left her office, but she dried her eyes before anyone could see her there. It wouldn't be easy, but she would do it. She would go back to the hospital. There were so many reasons not to go back: her pride, her wounded ego, a heart that she wasn't sure could take another breaking.

But he was worth it. The clock dragged on until noon when she finally slipped out of the office for lunch and headed for the hospital.

She would not walk out on him. She would fight.


	2. Truce

Each step down the hallway to his room became more and more difficult. As she put one foot in front of the other, her heart began to pound, and her mouth suddenly went dry. She could never have guessed that they would come to this, and that she would have to fight to remain in his life.

She could see him through the glass window into his room. The second surgery had left him even more pale and weak than before. He lay motionless, grim-faced, with his head turned to the wall.

She took a deep breath and peeled her tongue from the roof of her mouth. She had rehearsed her entrance on the drive over, but somehow, when she took the first tentative step in the door, all she could summon up was a weak, "Surprise..."

He turned his head slowly toward her voice. His face showed no emotion. "Jordan..." he croaked.

"Thought you could get rid of me that easily?" she said quietly and took another step in. She braced herself for the inevitable, sharp, "_I had hoped so," _but he said nothing.

Finally, he spoke. "I said I don't need your pity."

She sniffed hard to stop the flow of tears. She had dug to the bottom of her soul to say those words to him as they brought him in, and she had gone to the same place to summon her courage as she waited in terror for him to come out of surgery. His rejection of her stung with fresh pain.

"This isn't about pity."

"Of course it is. Don't you think I see it on your face? All the nurses and doctors come in here, and they smile and give me that _look_. 'Poor guy. So young. He had his future ahead of him. Too bad he'll never walk again.'"

Her mouth fell open in shock. "Is that what the neurologist said?"

"Maybe after months and months of painful rehab I'll be able to take a few steps at a time. But the great news is that at some point, I'll probably regain full bladder and bowel function, so let's pop some champagne, shall we?" he said with sarcasm. She looked numbly at the floor as the full weight of the news sank in. His lip curled up into a bitter smile. "There it is. The _look_."

"Woody, I..." she fumbled.

"Just go, Jordan. Go," he sighed.

"It's not pity. Don't say that."

"Then _what?_ What is it? _Why_ are you here, Jordan? _Why_?" The force of his anger stunned her. She shrugged helplessly.

"What I said to you, before they took you into the OR..."

"Don't. _Don't_. I waited for years for you to say those words. I did everything I could to show you how much I wanted to be with you, and you did everything you could to stall. I gave you that ring because I thought you'd finally _get it_, but you threw it back in my face. Now I've got nothing to give you, and all of a sudden you can't live without me? How convenient is that? You don't have to commit to someone who's dead from the waist down, do you? So tell me. Why _are_ you here, Jordan?"

"Fine. I'm here to make you so miserable you'll want to get your ass out of bed and walk again just so you can get as far away from me as possible. How's that? I'm not going anywhere. You can hate me, you can hurl insults at me, I don't care. Because, believe me. Nothing can make me feel worse than I already feel." She huffed breathlessly when it was over.

He looked at her with narrowed eyes for a long moment and then gave an indifferent shrug. "Do whatever you want." He rolled his head impassively toward the wall.

She smiled a small, triumphant smile of relief. "Well, I've got to..." She jerked her thumb over her shoulder and shuffled awkwardly to the door. "I'll be back, Woody," she said purposefully. He showed no reaction.

Her pace lightened as she headed back down the hallway. He hadn't embraced her with open arms, but he hadn't thrown her out, either. She would take even the narrowest of openings back into his life.

It was a start.


	3. Hope

She left the hospital feeling ravenous and did a drive-thru at some greasy burger joint. She was more than 45 minutes late from her lunch hour, and there was another memo on her desk when she returned. Apparently, lengthy lunch hours were to come to an end, and all employees were to clock in and out when they left the building for any reason.

Lily passed by Jordan's door and stopped when she saw her there. "Jordan! Where have you been? Slocum's on the warpath!"

"I was at the hospital." Jordan held up the memo. "Looks like I've gone and ruined it for everyone."

"Don't worry about it." Lily rolled her eyes, but her face immediately lit up. She came inside and closed the door behind her. "You went back! How is he? Any news from the neurologist?"

Jordan sighed and collapsed in her chair. "They should know more by the end of the week when the swelling around the spinal cord stars to go down. If he _is_ able to walk again, it will take months of rehabilitation. Even then, he might never regain full use of his legs."

"Oh, Jordan..." Lily's hand flew up to her heart. Her voice broke, and her eyes began to tear up.

"Now, don't do that, Lily. You're going to make me cry again." Jordan wiped at her eyes.

"How is he taking it?"

"Not well. Can you blame him?" Jordan shook her head. "He's just so _angry_ with me right now."

"He's _terrified_. He doesn't want to be dependent on you. He doesn't want to become a burden, so he's pushing you away. You know that."

She nodded wearily. "I know. I just don't know how to make him stop pushing."

"Keep pushing in the opposite direction, Jordan."

Jordan smiled. "Just not on my lunch hour."

She crumpled the new memo into a ball and threw it into her waste paper basket, where it joined the one from earlier that morning.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

She went back to the hospital that day after work, and the next.

There was sort of a begrudging tolerance of her presence. She'd bring a book or her iPod and sit silently while he drifted in and out of sleep or, more usually, sat brooding in the semi-darkness.

Occasionally, he'd ask for a sip of water, and she'd refill his cup dutifully. Otherwise, there was thick silence between them. But he never asked her to go.

She dreaded the trip every day and the awkwardness of the room's stony silence. Several times, she almost turned around before reaching his door. What was the point? Their relationship seemed irrevocably shattered. Then, too, was the awful realization that this man she had fallen in love with might never be the same.

Several days after the surgery, he still hadn't regained any feeling in his legs, and the hopes of his walking again were beginning to fade. Woody had sunk even further into his gloominess.

It was the end of the week when she strolled in with a fresh stack of files she needed to review. She asked, as she did every day, how he was feeling, and he grunted in reply as she eased into the armchair.

"Are you in much pain?"

"Well, that's the great thing about being paralyzed, Jordan. Not a whole lot of pain. It's just as well. I don't want drugs."

She knew what he was thinking. "Have you heard from Cal?"

"His landlord says he skipped out on his rent. Moved in the middle of the night. The guys are trying to track him down."

"He'll turn up," she offered quietly.

His face twisted in a bitter smile. "He always does."

She debated whether or not to continue. "Is there any news from the neurologist?"

"Well, I'm still _crippled_, if that's what you mean."

_Keep pushing, Jordan._ She took a deep breath and went on. "I meant...are there plans to move you? Start rehab?"

"Rehab? That's a joke. Yeah, they're moving me to the rehab wing so I can learn how to be a good cripple."

"Woody, you don't know for sure..."

"It's been almost a week, Jordan. I still can't feel anything. Let's face it. This is my life. Stuck in a wheelchair."

"I'm sure Officer Collins' and Officer Buck's wives would love to have them stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of their lives," she snapped. She hadn't meant to say it, but the words flew out, and she was surprised at their sharpness.

He must have been, too. He stared back at her, blinking in stunned silence.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I shouldn't..." Her voice trailed off. His jaw hardened, and he turned away from her.

Her eyes fell back onto the file she had been reviewing, but the words began to blur from the tears that had formed there. She quickly brushed them away before he could see. The tension was broken by the entrance of Dr. Turner. He came in every day around this time with his customary air of professional detachment to check Woody's nerve responses.

He would prod and poke and Woody would shake his head. Nothing. Then Dr. Turner would sweep out again with the same thin smile. "We'll try again tomorrow," he would say, but with each day that passed, it seemed less and less likely that Woody would walk again.

It was the same again today as it had been all week. She watched on hopefully as he pressed a sharp object into the bottom of Woody's foot. "Anything?"

Woody rocked his head slowly from side to side. "No."

"Here?"

"No."

"What about here?"

"No. No. Once and for all, there's nothing."

The doctor ignored him and kept on. "Anything?"

Suddenly, there was a flicker on Woody's face. Jordan stood up from her chair and crossed to his bed. His eyes widened. "I felt that."

The doctor looked up at him in mild surprise. He moved the instrument to Woody's other leg and pressed down harder. "How about this?"

"Yeah. I felt it. I _felt_ it." His own voice rose in disbelief. "I felt it."

"Good." The doctor tucked the instrument back into his coat pocket. "The swelling is going down. It looks as if there was no permanent nerve damage." He gave Woody's arm a squeeze. "We'll start your rehab and physical therapy next week," he said with a mildly ominous tone and swept from the room.

She had spent too long trying to hide her emotions from him, and she now cried unabashed tears. A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, and she could see him blinking back his own tears.

She reached out impulsively and slipped her hand into his. She waited for him to withdraw his hand as he had done before, but he did not. Instead, he kept it there, and she felt the slight, almost imperceptible squeeze of his hand in response as closed his dampened eyes and leaned his head back onto the pillow.


	4. PostMortem

The feeling slowly returned to his legs, and with it came the seering pain of his injuries, sending him further into a black mood.

He was moved the next week into the rehab wing of the hospital, where merely standing up became a monumental hurdle. She went to him almost every night after work, where they still traded few words. Still, there was something comforting about sitting there with him, knowing he was alive.

She woke up one night sweating in a blind panic. What if Woody never walked again? What if he were right? What if this was about pity? She sat in the darkness for an hour, knees pulled to chest, going over and over it.

And then the words ran through her mind again. _Please don't leave me. I need you._ It was still true, all of it. A peace finally came over her, and she fell back into a contented sleep. She need to keep fighting.

She stumbled into his room that afternoon. He sat in bed in a pair of his old sweats. He had already lost so much mass from his frame, and the clothes hung from him. He turned his head wordlessly toward her. She offered him a quiet hello and crossed to the armchair.

"You're late."

She looked up at him. "What?"

"You're late."

"I...had to get gas on the way here."

He nodded and looked away again.

She smiled as she turned her back and opened her bag for the soda she had brought with her. _You're late._ Two words, but to her, they had all the hope in the world. Her absence had been noted. She had been missed.

She turned back around to where he was still staring emptily out the window.

"Okay, that's it. We're blowing this joint." She grabbed the wheelchair that was parked by his door and rolled it to his bedside.

"Jordan, I can't just..."

"Come on! Spring has sprung, man. It's an unbelievably gorgeous day. You're not sitting in here brooding all afternoon."

He put up a mild protest but finally threw up his hands, knowing there was no dissuading Jordan. She had misgivings after the amount of effort it took to transfer him from the bed to the wheelchair. He was 200 pounds of dead weight, and they were both out of breath when she finally eased him into the chair.

He looked down, ashamed. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea."

"Well, I don't have the energy to get you back in bed, so I guess we'll have to keep moving." She pushed him into the hall.

There was a small courtyard off of the hospital cafeteria with a few quiet tables and a fountain. The lunch crowd had dispersed, and they were alone. He sat with his face tilted up into the afternoon sun.

"I'd forgotten what this feels like," he said quietly.

There was a long silence, and it was not altogether uncomfortable. She closed her eyes and listened to the soothing trickle of the fountain.

"What happened with us?" It spilled out of him, as if he had been storing it up for too long.

Her eyes snapped open. He was looking at her with a creased forehead. She looked down and fidgeted with her straw.

"I don't know, Woody." She shook her head in sad incomprehension.

"Even when we were seeing other people, even when we agreed to be 'just friends,' I really thought it would work out." His voice was heavy. " I never thought there would be a time when there would be nothing between us."

She chewed at her lip thoughtfully. The words were difficult to say. "I didn't know what I wanted. I was scared to admit to myself, let alone you, how I really felt. But I always thought you'd wait, I guess. Until I was sure. Then I found out you were seeing Devan..."

"It was never about Devan," he interrupted with force. "I liked her. We were friends, but that's it. She wanted more, but I couldn't give it to her. I only dated Devan, I think, to make you jealous."

"It worked." She looked down in shame at the guilt she still felt over Devan's death.

"Then _why?" _His voice ached with frustration. "Why did we keep doing this stupid dance? We almost had something in L.A. I was standing there on that rooftop offering you unconditional love and support, Jordan. We almost kissed, and then that damn phone rang. I should have known then, but you gave me those tickets to the Kinks concert, and you promised to be waiting for me in Boston. Idiot me, I believed you. But then I get back to Boston, and the walls are up and nothing I said matters. My feelings don't matter, because it's _all about Jordan_."

"That's not fair," she said, but her eyes stung with tears of regret.

"And then the _ring_," he went on bitterly. "I'm a human being, Jordan. I may come off to you all like some happy-go-lucky Boy Scout, but there's a heart under here, too, and I couldn't take it anymore. The empty promises, the rejection. So, I bought that ring. I knew it was too much, too soon, but it was time to fish or cut bait. I just hoped it would turn out a little differently."

She let his words seep in and took a long time before speaking. "I was going to ask for it back. You didn't know that, did you? But then, you told me you thought we should just be friends." She finally looked up at him. "I tried to tell you that night, Woody. And then the night you were shot. I _tried_. I finally was ready to say what I've wanted to say for so long, but..." she shrugged helplessly.

"Too little, too late." His voice was cool and even.

"Yeah..." she said in a broken voice, and she sniffed hard to hold back the tears. "So...where do we go from here?"

He sighed heavily. "I don't know, Jordan."

"Can't we at least be friends?" she asked tearfully.

"We've never been anything _but _friends. Look how that turned out."

"No. I'm not giving up."

He sighed heavily but did not respond. "I'd better get back. I'm going to be late for physical therapy."

She stood up as he pushed back from the table. "I'll take you..."

"No, that's all right. Go home, Jordan. You must be exhausted." He wheeled away and then looked back at her. "Thanks for the coffee."

He went through the door and back into the cafeteria. She sat there for a long time listening to the bubbling water. She wasn't sure if she should laugh or cry. She deserved his anger, she knew. But there was hope, too. Hope in his words, hope in the simple smile he gave her as he turned his head over his shoulder. It seemed appropriate to cling to the slightest hope when the smallest movement of his foot was cause for celebration.

She smiled to herself as she finally rose from the table and tossed a shiny penny into the fountain.


	5. Need

_Disclaimer: I don't have a medical background, so I have no idea if rehab patients are allowed to leave the hospital. But let's pretend, okay:)_

_I know things are moving slowly for our favorite couple, but I don't think it gives away too much to say that you can probably expect a happy ending in another chapter or two. I hope it'll be worth the ride!_

_Thanks for reading and reviewing!_

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She dreamed of him often. In each one, he could run and walk and dance with her in his strong arms. She would whisper to him those words -- _Please don't leave me -- _and he would scoop her up and cover her face with kisses.

Then she would awaken, and the cold reality would seep back in.

There was progress, but it had been slow and difficult these last few weeks. His spirits had improved with each step he took, and the chill between them had begun to thaw. He was restless, frustrated, stir-cray, but then at other times, he seemed to be the old Woody Hoyt.

He was able to move around fairly well with crutches and could stand now and take a few painful, halting steps on his own. He would need to continue physical therapy for months, but he could finally go home.

She showed up the night before his release and walked uneasily down the hall. Her heart was racing the way it had weeks ago when she had returned here after his cool dismissal of her. She was taking a big risk tonight, and she knew it. They hadn't spoken any more of their relationship after he had left her there in the hospital cafeteria. It was a wound that needed to heal along with the rest of him, and she thought perhaps friendship would be enough for her. With each dream she had of him, she knew that it wasn't.

She took a deep breath before entering his room and leaned against the doorframe. "Buy you a drink, detective?"

He looked up, and his jaw dropped. She was wearing a red halter dress, and her hair hung down in loose, wavy tendrils the way he had always admired. Her crimson lips curled up in an alluring smile.

"Jordan..._wow_. You look..._wow_."

She moved inside the room. "Wow? I'll take that as a compliment," she purred.

He blinked and swallowed hard. "No, it's definitely a compliment. What's the occasion?"

"Well..." she perched on the edge of the bed next to him. I was supposed to go to some stuffy old awards banquet for my new boss, but I blew it off. I'm taking you out to celebrate."

"And what exactly are we celebrating?"

"You getting out of this place! No more hospital gowns, no more meals on trays, no more teal scrubs."

He left an awkward silence and squirmed uncomfortably. "I don't think this is a good idea."

"Come on! When was the last time you saw the real world?"

He struggled for words. "Look at you. You're all dressed up. This is all I've got." He motioned down to his t-shirt and running shorts.

"Trust me. This place doesn't have a dress code. It's, shall we say, exclusive but casual."

He looked at her for a long moment. "You're not going to take no for an answer. Are you?"

She shook her head. "Not a chance."

XXXXXXXX

He went, reluctantly, but said little on the drive. She could feel his eyes on her as she drove. When she turned her face towards him, he would quickly look away, but she knew her appearance was having its desired effect.

Finally, he spoke. "This is the way to your place, isn't it?"

She smiled as her car turned the corner and slid into a lucky parking spot in front of her building. "Exactly. I told you it was exclusive. Good thing I know the owner."

She laughed a small ripple of a laugh, but it quickly died in her throat. He sat rigid in the passenger seat, gripping his crutches. "Don't do this, Jordan."

"What? It's just dinner! Hey, I'd love to take you out on the town, but I just put $750 in the transmission, so Chez Cavanaugh is about as top drawer as we're going to get." She reached out and touched his wrist. "It's just dinner, Woody."

He struggled on the way into the building and up the elevator, but he made it. His face was dark with a foreboding, and she nattered on and on to cover her own nervousness.

She pushed open the door ceremoniously and stretched her arm out. "Ta da." He leaned in and looked around. The darkened apartment glowed with the strands of tiny white lights she had strung around the room. The windows had been opened, and the window sheers billowed in the summer evening wind. She had moved her little kitchen table to the center of the room and set it with a table cloth. A bottle of wine waited there in a bucket.

"Jordan..." He shook his head, and she spoke up before he could say any more.

"I just wanted to do something nice. You've been staring at the same four sterile white walls for weeks. I just thought..." She looked down. "Don't say no. Please."

He hobbled in and stood in obvious discomfort in the middle of the room. She vanished into the kitchen. "Dinner will be on the table in a minute. I confess...I got take-out from the Italian place down the street."

She came back in with the plates, and Woody was sitting awkwardly at the table. They ate in an uneasy silence, the scrape of the silverware against the plates the only sound.

It all seemed so foolish and half-baked suddenly, this plan to lure him to her apartment in her tight red dress. He had made a grand gesture with the ring, and she supposed this was her own grand gesture to make him see how she felt and how utterly inadequate the thought of mere friendship was.

Finally, he pushed his half-eaten plate away.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm just not that hungry, I guess." He looked down at the table in discomfort. "Look, I've got a big day tomorrow. I should probably get back."

"No! No!" She rose and grabbed his plate. "Have some coffee first. Someone gave me this cappuccino maker for Christmas, and I've never used it. Just one cup. One little cup."

She flashed him a smile, but he pulled uncomfortably at his collar. "Okay. One cup," he said wearily.

He was sitting on the sofa when she re-entered. He took one sip and put the cup on the end table.

She sat next to him and curled her feet under her. "I've been thinking lately."

"Oh, yeah? About what?"

"About us." She looked down at her hands so she would not have to see his reaction. There was a pause.

"What about us?"

"Everything has been kind of on hold while you've been in the hospital. Your life, my life. But you're getting out tomorrow, and it seems like a good time to start things fresh."

Her heart had begun to pound, and she was not encouraged by the stony look that had come across his face.

"Is that what you think, Jordan?"

"Nothing's changed," she said softly as she inched toward him. "Those things I said to you? I still feel that way. I need you, Woody." She leaned in, her lips brushed against his ear the way they had those weeks ago. She felt him shiver against her. "I _need_ you. I _want _you."

He turned his face towards hers then. He opened his mouth to speak, but she closed it with her own.

He began to respond, parting his lips, pressing them against hers. After a moment, she felt his hand move up her back. She ran her hands through his thick hair as he pulled her against him, and he moaned a soft, low moan. His mouth fell along her neck and across her collar bone.

She sat up and tugged his shirttails out of his waistband. She thought he might protest, but instead, he pulled the shirt over his head and leaned back against the sofa arm with a questioning look.

A jagged scar cut across his middle. She ached for him, having gone through so much pain. She ran her fingers alongside it and kissed him in the center of his chest. She could feel his breath quicken and his heart race.

His hands were on her shoulders, then, pulling her back up to his waiting mouth. His hands reached around her neck and undid the ties on her halter dress. The feel of his fingers on her bare skin made every nerve stand on end.

They kissed with the pent-up emotion of three years. Shoes were kicked off in a frenzy, and her dress fell into a pile on the floor. He looked up at her, and she smiled down at him with a radiant smile. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of his running shorts and tugged at them, as she covered his face with small kisses.

"Jordan..." she heard him say in a small voice. "No..."

"It's okay, Woody. It's okay."

"No...please. I can't..." She felt his hand on hers, then, pulling in the opposite direction. "_Stop_." His other hand was on her shoulder, pushing her off.

He swung his legs over the side of the sofa and buried his face in his hands. She retreated into the opposite corner of the sofa, panting in breathless confusion.

"Woody? What is it? Did I hurt you?"

"No, it's just..." He leaned forward, elbows on knees. "I can't do this, Jordan. _We_ can't do this. Don't you get it? I might never get any better. I might never go back to work. My days on the Boston P.D. are _over_. I can never be what you want me to be."

"Do you really think that matters to me? I don't care, Woody. I don't care about any of that, don't _you_ get it? When I said those things to you in the hospital, I meant every word. Why don't you believe me?"

He raised his face up to her and kicked angrily at his crutches. "I'm not that person anymore, Jordan."

She looked away to keep from crying. The shooting had robbed him of so much, and his legs were the least of it. She shook her head sadly. "No. You're not."

She grabbed her dress and stalked off to the bathroom. She sat on the edge of the tub for a long moment and held a towel against her face to muffle the sounds of her crying.


	6. Home

She hastily scrubbed off her makeup and threw on a pair of sweats. He was dressed when she re-entered the room, sitting with his metal crutches across his lap.

"I'm sorry, Jordan..."

"Don't be," she said roughly and grabbed her keys from the end table. "You'd better get back."

She was surprised at the amount of anger she felt at him, anger mixed with a sense of guilt. _This_ was the way he must have felt all the times he reached out for her and was soundly rejected.

She had no desire to speak to him on the return trip to the hospital and pulled up to the curb in front of the rehab wing with a screech of her tires.

"I'll be here at 10AM to drive you home," she said curtly. He paused for a moment with his hand on the door.

"Jordan...this is for the best, and you know it."

She wanted to speak, to tell him that she knew no such thing, but she couldn't find the strength. She looked out the windshield with her fingers gripped around the steering wheel and couldn't watch him as he hobbled back inside the building.

Her shoulders heaved once with a sob, but she raised her head and threw the car into drive.

XXXXXX

She showed up the next morning with an empty copy paper box to help him carry home the stuffed animals and other get-well gifts he'd accumulated in the last few weeks. He was ready to go, sitting silently in wait.

There were no greetings, no conversation. "Ready to go?" she asked quietly.

He nodded. "You didn't have to do this, Jordan. I could have called one of the guys from the P.D."

She didn't respond. He was right, but she knew with an aching sense of loss that this might be her last chance to see him. Once he closed his apartment door and retreated inside, the door on their relationship would probably be forever closed, too.

A nurse wheeled him out while she walked behind with his things and then loaded the car.

She felt the sense of dread growing as they rode the elevator up to his floor and then inside to his apartment. She set his duffle bag and the box down on the kitchen counter and stood awkwardly across the room from him with her hands tucked into her back pockets. He looked back at her, supporting himself on his crutches.

"Well. I guess that's everything," she said softly.

He nodded. "I guess so."

She walked slowly around the room, taking a last look. They had curled up on that sofa watching old movies. He had held her there as she cried on the anniversary of her mother's death. He had made her his famous spaghetti there in that kitchen. Her eyes welled with tears.

"You're so damn stupid, you know?"

His eyes widened. "_I'm _stupid?"

"You're about to let the best thing that every happened to you walk out the door."

"Funny. I never really thought of being yanked around and rejected as being good things."

She crossed to him pleadingly. "That's over now, Woody."

"And I'm just supposed to take your word for it?" He looked away from her.

"Yes! You are! What do you want? Do you want me to say the words? I will. I love you, Woody."

"Jordan, we've been through this. I'm not the same person. Look at me. I can't be what you want me to be."

She clenched her fists in frustration. "Is that what you think? You think I fell in love with your body? You think I fell in love with your police badge?" She took a deep breath as the tears poured in sheets down her face. "I fell in love with _you_. And yes, it took almost losing you to realize it. But I love you, Woody Hoyt. I love how you stammer and blush whenever I tease you. I love your hideous ties. I love your corny jokes. I love the way you get choked up at Hallmark commercials and then pretend you weren't. I love _you_. Why can't you see that?"

He turned back to her, unmoved.

Her heart dropped as she looked at him for a long moment. "So, this is it. You're really going to let me walk out that door," she said in a small, broken voice.

"Jordan, we've been through this. It's too late. I can't do this anymore. This dance."

"Haven't you noticed, Woody? The music has stopped. I'm not dancing anymore. I'm here, in front of you, and I meant every word I said."

He shrugged weakly. "I'm sorry, Jordan..."

The pain was too sharp. She nodded and retreated quickly to the door. It was done. She had tried, and it was finally, completely over.

No. Not yet.

She turned to him, a fire in her eyes. "Do you know what I think? I think you're scared. Scared to commit."

He snorted. "_Me? _ Jordan, I ran after you for years. I gave you a diamond ring to try and get you to commit!"

"Oh, you'd really like me to think that, wouldn't you? You keep telling me and everyone else that you gave me that ring as some grand gesture to get me to finally declare my feelings. But that's crap, and you know it."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

She crossed angrily to him. He shuffled uncomfortably, trying to look away, but she ducked into his line of view. "It's true. I'm right, aren't I? You gave me that ring because you _knew_ I'd never accept it."

"Stop, Jordan!" He swung out his crutch at her to keep her at bay, but she dodged and moved in.

"No, you have me that ring so you could play the martyr and say, 'Poor me. I tried, but Jordan just doesn't love me.' The truth is, you never had any intentions of committing."

"That's a lie!" He moved away, but she followed.

"The truth is, you were just as scared to commit as I was. Because when you love someone that much, you're terrified you're going to screw it up."

He shook his head. She could see the tears form in his eyes. "No..."

"When you love someone that much, you're terrified it might all be over in an instant and you could lose them forever."

"_I've lost EVERYBODY!"_ he finally raged. "_Everyone_ I've ever loved! My mother, my father, Cal. _Gone_. I can't do it anymore!"

He sank onto the sofa and covered his face with his hands while his body shook with sobs.

She crossed and sat gently next to him. "I know," she said quietly. "I know, Woody." She slipped her arms around him. "But I'm not going anywhere. Do you understand? I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere." She stroked his hair as his sobs subsided.

They sat with their arms wrapped around each other for a long while. His heart beat strong and steady.

He looked up finally and brushed her hair from her eyes. "I'm terrified."

"I'm terrified, too." She laughed through her own tears and took his face tenderly between her hands. "But I'm more terrified of walking out that door and never seeing you again." She kissed him softly on the lips.

They were quiet for a time. Finally, he sat up and looked at her sternly. "Whaddya mean you didn't fall in love with my body?"

She smiled. "No. Sorry. It's not about the body. Although it is quite spectacular."

He smiled back. "I can live with that, I guess."

"Good." She nestled in next to him. "Because I'm not going anywhere."

He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "I know."

THE END


End file.
